by Dana Mentink
Julio gestured sagely. “Don’t fret yourself over it. It’s the inescapable power of the written word. Though the letters may be antique, they hold within them the deep and unerring...”
“Julio,” a nasal voice called from the store. “Come here and help me find the Annals of Aubergines.”
“One moment, pet,” Julio said, gathering himself. “The deep and unerring tide of love and...”
“I can’t find it,” Mrs. Mendez called again from beyond the door. “And the dust in here is stirring up my allergies.”
“Coming, dear,” Julio said. “I was just waxing eloquent on the matter of the letters...”
A robust series of sneezes filtered through the door.
Julio smiled. “I’ll be just a minute,” he said as he trundled away, muttering to himself.
Rosa moved to get to Bitsy’s side, but both Manny and Pike stepped forward at the same moment, blocking her way and putting the two men face-to-face.
“Are you tired, Aunt Bitsy?” Pike asked. “Why don’t we find you a place to sit down at the beach? You can enjoy the music. Or I can take you back to the inn, if you’d like.”
Manny raised his chin. “I can take her. She came with me, she should leave with me.”
“And who do you think you are, exactly, to be in charge of Bitsy? I’m her nephew,” Pike growled. “What are you to my aunt?”
The elderly couple gave their group a startled look, joined hands and hastened out of the room.
Manny planted his hands on his hips. “I’m someone who has known this lovely lady for a lifetime, Pike, so you don’t need to treat me like some sort of interloper.”
“Your words, not mine, but if the shoe fits...”
“Why don’t you spit it out, boy?” Manny said. “Stop pussyfooting around and say what you mean.”
Rosa felt as though she was about to witness a train wreck.
Pike’s eyes flashed. “You came to this town twenty years ago and you did nothing but stir up trouble, and you’re still doing it.”
“How is being kind to your aunt stirring up trouble?”
Bitsy stepped between them. “This is silly.”
“She doesn’t need you around, mooching off of her, playing on her generosity,” Pike snapped.
“I’m not mooching. She invited me to stay.”
“Just like she invited your kids to move in when you took off and left them.”
“Pike.” The word shot out of Rosa more from shock than because she had anything of note to say. Her anger caught her by surprise, as did the protective feeling that swelled inside her as she saw her father flinch.
Pike paid no heed to either Rosa’s or his aunt’s efforts to quiet him. If he was a teakettle, he would be boiling all over the stove, so hot was the look he leveled at Manny.
Manny voice was low and tense. “In case you haven’t noticed, your aunt is a grown woman who can speak for herself, not a child that you can order around. So quit bullying her, Pike.”
Pike’s face went purple. “Bullying?”
Julio sailed in again, stopping short as he took in the angry tableau before him. “Er, as I was saying about the unerring tide of love...” His words trailed off. “Did I miss something?”
“Not at all,” Bitsy said, straightening. Two patches of rosy red shone on her cheeks. “Thank you for putting together this lovely exhibit. We appreciate it very much, Julio. Right now, I am going to walk down to the beach and see the sandcastles and greet my friends. Maybe I will even buy myself an ice cream sandwich, if Flo has any left in her cart. In any case, I am going to enjoy this boat festival because it may be the last one I attend.” She stalked to the door and fired off a final comment. “Come to think of it, I might even eat two ice cream sandwiches.”
She left. Manny and Pike were still glaring daggers at each other.
Manny’s eyes narrowed even further. “Remember, kid,” he whispered. “I know what kind of a man you really are. I’m leaving now.” He shuffled to the door.
Pike’s nostrils flared, lips tight. He rounded on Rosa. “Your father is a meddling troublemaker.”
“You didn’t have the right to talk about Bitsy raising us like that.”
“It’s a fact, Rosa. He dumped you and he should feel like a clod, and you’re defending him now?”
Was she? Good question. Should she support the man who was so flawed he’d run away, yet somehow held a spot in her heart she could not deny?
Interloper. Moocher. Deep down, was that what Pike thought of her, too, or was his ire directed only at her father? She remembered the warmth that had suffused her when he’d kissed her, the pride she felt knowing he was truly impressed at the work she’d done on the Pelican.
Her father.
Pike.
She could not sort out a clear direction from the emotions that stormed through her. Like an unerring tide, Julio would no doubt say.
Manny was not done. He strode back inside. “And I had the proof, right in my hands.”
“Fine.” Pike held up his palm. “Then let’s see it. If you’re so sure you’re right, let’s see the proof and you can explain why you never offered it up before.”
Manny continued as if he were talking to himself. “Got some great underwater pictures of the two drain plugs that were damaged and the disconnected bilge pump.”
“Disconnected?” Pike gaped. “That boat was in perfect condition, and the bilge pump was working fine. I checked it myself that morning.”
Manny shook his head. “I went to talk to Bitsy, to break it to her easy. I knew she was going to take it hard that her brother and nephew were frauds, but the same day someone jimmied the lock on my car, removed the film from the camera and locked the car back up again, neat as you please. By the time I drove to Half Moon Bay to have the film developed and realized what happened, Poppy’s Dream had been towed to salvage and any evidence was conveniently destroyed.”
“Unbelievable. So now we not only sank our own boat, but stole evidence from your car?” Pike laughed. “This is getting ludicrous, even for you.”
“I lost my job over it. Company asked me to take an early retirement.”
“Good for the company.”
“I didn’t want to quit.” Manny cocked his head. “Yours was the only job I didn’t finish.”
“Lucky us.”
“So you understand why I don’t want you around him, princess?”
Rosa was startled at the redirection of the conversation. “What?”
“He’s bad, and I see the way he looks at you.”
She felt her cheeks go hot. “Dad, that’s not true.”
“Your mother, she said Pike was a fine boy. ‘Manny,’ she said, ‘Pike is good for Rosa. Stop interfering.’” He chuckled, a faraway look surfacing in his eyes. “Katy would stick out her chin and bob that ponytail at me, and I knew that was that. Rosa, why don’t you wear flowers in your hair like your mother does?”
The question cut like a knife. “Dad?” She asked softly. “Are you okay?”
“She has some, a box somewhere, of the fake ones with little clips on the back for when she can’t find a fresh flower in the garden. Ask her where she keeps it.”
She stepped closer and gently put a hand on his shoulder, which felt small and bony in her grasp. “Mom is gone, Dad. Mom is dead.”
He blinked. “Dead.”
Her heart broke a little more with each nod of her head.
He looked away for a moment. “Yes, I know. Your mother is dead.” It was as if he had been jerked back and forth between two realities, the world as he remembered it and the painful present.
Some children ran by, balloons fastened to their wrists with yellow ribbon. Did he see Rosa and Cy in those children? She drew closer, wanting to touch him, to
take his hand. Her fingers did not make contact before he shoved his fists into his pockets and cleared his throat. “Looks like I’m missing some fun. Let’s go outside and find Bitsy.”
Pike stood, statuelike, his body still stiff with anger while something like pity pulled at the corners of his mouth.
“I’ll be there in a minute, okay, Dad?” Rosa said.
Manny nodded, walking out.
Julio had returned to the bookstore, leaving Rosa alone with Pike. “What just happened?” she breathed.
He took a faltering step toward her, face pale. “I don’t know. Everything was normal, Manny and I hating each other, I mean, and then it went sideways.”
Rosa pressed a knuckle to her mouth. “He’s drifting away, mentally.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No,” she said, slowly, stomach tight. “You’re not.”
“I have valid reasons for despising him. Just because he’s sick doesn’t take those reasons away.”
“Yes, it does. How can you still hold it against him?”
He huffed out a breath. “Because, Rosa, he believes my deceased father and I are criminals. He has his facts in order, or at least he thinks he does, about what happened with Poppy’s Dream.” Pike began to pace over the old wood floor, causing the boards to creak and moan. “I don’t want to pick on an old man.”
“Then don’t.”
“He’s still the person who wants me ruined.”
She swallowed an ache in her throat. “I’m not so sure he is anymore, Pike.”
“It has to end. I’m going to ask Bitsy what she knows about it all.”
“I don’t care,” she cried out. “It was twenty years ago.”
He stopped his pacing to stare at her. “I’m sorry. What’s happening to your dad... It’s terrible. I’m not happy to see it, and it’s especially hard to watch how it’s impacting you.” He paused. “But I can’t forget the accusation just because he’s not the man he used to be.”
“Soon,” she said, voice trembling. “He may not even remember that he accused you at all.”
“Maybe he won’t,” Pike said, eyes flickering like pools of troubled water, “but I will.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ROSA STOOD IN THE STREET, people milling about in all directions, her feet unable to decide on a path. Manny had reconnected with Bitsy; Rosa saw them enjoying a juggler who hefted fruits of all sizes in a whirling orbit around his head. Manny did not look pained by what had just happened, and for that she was grateful. Maybe the journey would be like that, a slow slipping away into deeper waters, and then he would be gone, just as he had been when she was a teen. The injustice of it all was too much. Rosa shut the thoughts away, locked them down tight.
Pike waited uncertainly in the doorway of the historical society headquarters. She could feel him behind her, shifting from foot to foot, clearing his throat. “Rosa?”
She did not dare answer because she could not guarantee what might come out of her mouth. A tide of rage? A tear-soaked plea for comfort? So she kept her back to him, standing straight, simultaneously willing him to come to her and leave her alone.
Finally, he stepped onto the sidewalk. “Sandcastle competition should be in full swing. Do you want to go down and check it out?”
Deep breath in. And out. “You go ahead. I’ll be along in a while.”
“Rosa,” he started, then sighed. “Okay. I’ll see you later.”
He edged forward then got caught up in the human tide and swept from view. Still, her feet gave no sign of wanting to move, to combat the paralysis that had taken root. She forced them into motion. She found herself meandering down the sidewalk, past a table of eager teens dabbing face paint onto the plump cheeks of children. Craft booths were set up along the main drag—lopsided, handmade candles, little boats fashioned from recycled aluminum cans, piles of knitted scarves, hats and mittens. Did anyone wear mittens along the coast of California? part of her wondered. The other part did not care.
Polish sausage, kettle corn and clam chowder in little bread bowls scented the air as the dinner hour came upon them. She watched the milling crowd, laughing and eating, soaking in the festive mood. Rosa noticed that she’d stopped near the door of The Second Wave consignment store. The comforting, musty smell of old things drew her inside.
“Having a boat festival sale,” the lady with the enormous silvery braid called to her. Rosa remembered her name was Sylvia. “Half off everything that has a yellow tag,” Sylvia added, as she sorted through an enormous pile of clothing.
Rosa nodded and lost herself in the tables of the old and used. Sets of teacups minus a few plates. Stacks of old magazines that hadn’t been read in decades. Boxes of jewelry that had once added sparkle to necks and fingers. And a container of old hair clips. Rosa’s fingers stopped at the silver clip with one silk rose stuck there with hot glue. The stiff petals of the flower had aged and yellowed a bit, and one of the green leaves underneath had fallen away. She picked it up and held it to her nose, inhaling the musk of years gone by. The little yellow price tag read $3.00. She took it to the cash register.
“That will be a dollar fifty without tax,” Sylvia said. “Such a bargain. You could even replace it with a newer flower if you wanted to.”
She didn’t. The old flower was imbued with the patina of the past from the woman who had worn it before, steeped with the invisible memories that Rosa would never be privy to.
“Dollar fifty,” Sylvia repeated again.
Rosa was normally thrilled by a bargain, but this one only awakened a feeling of sadness inside her as she fished a dollar bill and coins from her pocket. Sylvia snipped off the tag and handed it over.
“Put it on.”
Rosa hesitated and Sylvia took it from her hands. “Here, let me.” She loosed Rosa’s hair from the ponytail and pulled a section back, pinning the flower clip in place. “So pretty.” She looked closer at Rosa. “Say, weren’t you the one who bought that wool rug here a few days ago?”
“Yes. My brother is reupholstering an ottoman with it.”
“Yeah?” Sylvia’s eyes widened and she popped her gum. “How does it look?”
Cy had applied himself with his usual precision, forgoing food or conversation while he worked diligently on the transformation. The ottoman had turned out beautifully, of course, something old and tired, reworked and revived. How easy it was, with hardware and fabric, to resurrect something from the past.
She thought of her father’s weary face, of the deeply buried hurt in Pike’s eyes and the long-ago laughter of a woman who used to wear flowers in her hair. If only the human heart was so easily transformed.
She realized Sylvia was still waiting for a response. “It’s lovely,” she said. “Perfect, in fact.”
Sylvia beamed. “That’s so cool,” she said. “I wish I knew how to turn old things new again.”
“Me, too,” Rosa said, as she left the store.
* * *
SHE DID MANAGE to make it to the beach in time to witness the amazing sand sculptures and the artists who worked feverishly on them with everything from garden trowels to Popsicle sticks. Towering boats, castles, mermaids and even a taxicab emerged under the determined efforts of the sculptors. The winners would be announced just before the festival closed, as the high tide reached out to reclaim their building material.
Rosa’s breath caught as she noticed Pike and Eva standing in the late sunlight, looking out across the water and the boats that bobbed on the waves. Clouds had rolled in from somewhere. Eva’s blond hair trailed in the breeze, caressing Pike’s shoulder. He pointed at something and she leaned close to follow his finger. Apparently, she did not see it, because he put his arm around her shoulders and positioned her. She straightened, laughing, and he joined in. They looked, Rosa was dismayed to realize, like the perf
ect couple. Maybe they were: an architect and a lawyer. What did Rosa and Pike look like together? With the shadow of the past lingering between them, him with a briefcase and a Mercedes, her with a sticky paintbrush and a failing business?
Baggy appeared at her feet, tail wagging, and Cy joined her, scooping up the little dog. “Hey, sis. Whatcha been up to?” His eyes flicked to Eva. “Man, she looks even prettier than she was in high school.” His gaze clouded a bit and Rosa knew where his heart had taken him.
She also knew he did not want to talk about it.
“I’m going back to the inn,” he said, his gaze swiveling from Rosa to Pike and Eva. “Do you want to come?”
She shook her head. “I’m going to watch the sunset first. Maybe I’ll pull an all-nighter, since the crowds will be back tomorrow morning.”
“Storm’s in the forecast, so maybe less touristas. We’ll see.”
“Cy,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “We’ve got to talk about dad soon.”
“Yeah.”
The silence between them filled with the question they were both unwilling to utter.
What would become of their father when he was no longer himself?
Cy kissed her cheek. “We’ll figure it out, sis. We always have, the two of us.”
Baggy added his tongue to the conversation, lapping at Rosa’s chin. “Make that the three of us.”
Cy waved goodbye and toted Baggy up the beach.
The mayor of Tumbledown, who was also the owner of Jake’s Auto Repair Shop, took the microphone. In a nod to formality, he wore a bolo tie around the neck of his polo shirt and a pair of faded jeans. He announced the winner of the sand sculpture contest as the sun sank behind him into a liquid gold puddle that electrified the clouds.
A couple named Harold and Thelma were the winning sand sculpture team and they let out a couple of hearty whoops as they went to accept their prize, a fifty-dollar check and a voucher for a free tune-up at the garage.
